Bandit: A Love Story
by Aelia Douglass
Summary: The Dragonborn finds her path crossing a wayward bandit's more than once. Soon she begins to wonder if it's chance or something else.
1. Chapter 1

**Part I: Bandit**

"Damn it all," Kathryn cursed as her sword had shattered against her opponent's. He smiled, a flash of surprisingly white teeth against dark skin.

"Having trouble, princess?" He teased as he forced her back with a series of rapid and barely dodged blows.

"You're no trouble at all, you milk drinker," She growled, drawing her daggers and launching herself at him. He batted her away like she was nothing. But she was back, throwing herself at him once more. She just needed him to move a little further left… there! He was right where she needed him to be. When he took another swing at her, she dodged and tripped him. He landed hard on the floor, his sword skittering away.

"Fuck." He growled, the expletive choked out as he got back up.

Kathryn smiled, determined to end this now. She moved in quickly, closing the distance between them in a few steps. Her daggers were ready. She went after him with a series of feints which he swatted away with his bare hands on her wrists, and then she was going for the kill, and he was grabbing her and yanking her off her feet.

It was her turn to eat dirt as she landed hard on the ground. One dagger flew out of her grip. She cursed her stupidity and carelessness in losing it, but she still had one. And then he was on her. His foot pressed into her wrist and held her there as he pried the dagger out of her hand and threw that away, too.

He stepped back then, surprisingly. Let her rise to her feet and dust off her light leather armor. She watched him cautiously as he smirked at her.

"Tell me something, princess," He still smiled that cocky smirk she wanted to beat right off his face, "Are you here on contract, or are you just some unlucky fool who stumbled into our den?"

"What does it matter?" She growled, wondering if she could get to the dagger in her boot before he could get to her.

"Because if you're not here to kill me, then I may be able to just let you go with a beating." His smirk widened into a grin as he looked her over. "Couldn't let you walk out of here without one. Not good for my reputation. You understand, I'm sure."

"Sorry handsome," She said, "But I was told to get the bandits out of this cave."

"That's unfortunate." He closed the distance between them then, his fist swinging toward her head. She ducked, narrowly avoiding impact. He was solid muscle, and she knew that her odds against him were not good if they brawled.

For all that Kathryn believed in honor, and moral codes, she also believed in staying alive, so hit quick and hard and used anything she could to her advantage. He slammed his fist into her side, hitting her kidneys hard and making her gasp in pain. But that was when she saw the opening she'd needed. She lashed out with her foot and aimed for his crotch.

He twisted so her foot hit his thigh instead, and then he slammed her to the ground once more. He pinned her, his hands twisting her arms up over her head effortlessly.

She'd known better than to get in this position. Had known she was most likely in far over her head when she'd taken this job. When she'd told Annekke Crag-Jumper that she was going alone, the Nord had paled and insisted she take someone along with her. Kathryn had agreed just to pacify her, and then had set out alone.

In retrospect, not her brightest plan.

She was learning quickly that when someone gave her advice like "Don't walk in a den full of bandits alone" she should perhaps heed their warning.

The bandit leader smiled maliciously, his surprisingly white and straight teeth flashing once more against his dark face. Bright blue eyes sparkled in the light from the nearby fire. There was a day's stubble on his cheeks. His dark hair was braided, one of them teased her face, brushing her cheek as it swung free.

She meant to head-butt him. Really.

Kissing him was an accident. She was sure of it. She just...

Who was she kidding? Kathryn had been struck by just how attractive the man was, and she'd kissed him.

She didn't think it through. Didn't think of the consequences, or what might happen down the line. She had just been overwhelmed with a rush of adrenaline and need.

Sure it distracted him, and if she'd been thinking, she might have realized that he would be at his most vulnerable if she seduced him. And later, she might even claim that it had been a ploy. But what had truly happened had been more primal, harder to explain, harder to accept. She might regret it later. Kathryn was known for her rash decisions and all the regrets those had caused.

But right then, kissing him had felt too damn right.

She nipped at his lower lip, just a little nibble as she caught it between her teeth. And then her tongue slid over the spot, soothing any soreness away. And he was kissing her back, his mouth demanding more of her, his tongue pressing forward into her mouth and claiming.

Kathryn arched against him, her hips knocking him off balance. She used what leverage she had and sent him rolling off her. He landed on his back and she got on top of him, pinning him with ease. He had apparently decided it was worth his time to let her; she had no doubt he could toss her again if he wanted to.

Her hand found the buckle on his cuirass. His eyes smoldered as he glared up at her, daring her to continue. The first buckle fell open. Her fingers found the second easily. Buckle by buckle, she unfastened his armor.

The thing about Nords, she'd learned, was that they always wore the same damn armor. The buckles and cinches and other bits were always in the same place, so once you'd learned one sort of armor, you knew them all. Which theoretically helped to prepare an army; nobody had to figure out alien fastenings on someone else's armor.

But it left them vulnerable, too.

In moments like this, she was grateful for some of her youthful habits. She'd fallen into bed with more than one Nord warrior in the past. Something about them attracted her like a moth to flame. They were so big, strong, and manly. They exuded masculinity from every pore.

Under the worn leather of his cuirass, his chest was bare. Perhaps he'd had a shirt once, before necessity and hard living had caused him to sacrifice it to another purpose. Or perhaps he simply preferred to wear only armor. It was impossible to say, and Kathryn was hardly complaining. The ease of access was appreciated.

Her hands ran along his chest, touching bare skin, scars, and hair alike. The hard planes of his chest were dusted with hair, but his skin was, overall, smoother than that of most Nords.

He was smiling at her still, but it was not a smile of mirth.

It was the look of a predator.

One hand caught her hips, holding her in place as he bucked against her. The movement caused friction between them, heat and need building low in her belly. She made a noise, just the softest hitch in her breath, and his smile grew. He did it again, rubbing against her in _just_ the way her body craved.

This time, a moan escaped.

He growled then, the sound low and threatening. She shivered, and his smile grew more wicked still.

She knew his type, and though she couldn't help the niggling fear at how dangerous this man was, she still found him intensely erotic. She wanted him. Needed him.

She got her hand between their bodies, and began working on the buckle to his pants.

He caught her hand, stopped her. Then rolled so he was on top of her. His fingers set to work on her armor, unfastening it almost as efficiently as she had his. But her gear was simple, and common.

She'd left Cyrodiil in search of adventure. Had thought that the martial training she'd received would be enough. And, indeed, it might have been if she'd just listened to the advice of those more experienced than her.

He pulled away the leather, exposing her torso to his eyes. She stared up at him in challenge, daring him to find fault with the scars that marked her body. Each a testament to a mistake that should have cost her life, and hadn't. But instead of the disgust she often got from the more "civilized" races in the Empire, she saw respect; just a flash of it, before the heat was back in his eyes.

He was flexible, she had to give him that.

His lips seized her nipple, drawing it into his mouth sharply. She arched instinctively, a gasp escaping her lips. His teeth brushed against the sensitive peak, and her breath came in rough pants.

She bucked against him, trying to dislodge him the same way she had just moments before, but this time he corrected for her move, and pinned her once more. She growled, and he chuckled, his lips releasing her deliciously sore nipple as he nuzzled across her chest. His stubble scratched against her tender skin, leaving behind a trail of redness. And then he was claiming her other nipple, and giving it more of the same treatment.

She couldn't help the way her breathing hitched, wasn't sure she would have stopped it if she could.

She reached up to work on undressing him further, and without missing a beat, he caught her hands and pulled them away, pressing them into the hard floor above her head. He moved so he was nuzzling against her throat, alternating the burn of his stubble with the softness of kisses and the sharpness of the occasional bite.

"Talk to me, princess. Tell me how much you want me," his voice was a low rumble beneath her ear before he caught her earlobe and nibbled on that as well. "Tell me how much you love having a dirty Nord like me defile you. I can tell you're enjoying this."

He caught her hair, pulled her head back and to the side with it, and began lavishing attention on the other side of her neck.

"I-" the words wouldn't quite come. She'd thought she was prepared for this, but nothing she had experienced before could truly have compared to what she was feeling. The combination of desperate need and that edge of fear that this was all just a ploy on his part left her reeling. "I need you to touch me."

He growled, and bit down harder.

"Not what I meant, princess." His lips caressed the spot where his teeth had caught the skin. His hand had released her hair at some point, but she still turned her head so the bare stretch of skin was exposed to him.

"I don't know what to say." There was an edge of desperation and honesty in her words that made him pause for just a heartbeat. She felt it. The slight lag in movement between nip and kiss that marked the shift in his focus.

She took advantage of it, flipped him so he was on his back and she was straddling him once more. The smile she put on her face took just a moment too long. Concern flickered across his features.

Kathryn wanted to yell at him. To tell him to stop giving a damn what she was feeling and to just be a rough brute for her to fuck and then kill. But giving voice to those words would change what was happening here. Would change the way she felt about using him for his body.

And it was a damn fine body.

She rubbed against him, felt the ridge of his erection straining his pants. Heard the way his breath changed when she did it. And then she smiled her predatory smile right back at him and began working her way down his body, letting her belly and then breasts rub against the lump in his pants as she moved.

She made quick work of his belt and the fastening to his pants. He was so hard that she had some trouble getting him out of his pants. But when she did, she realized it was worth it.

He was hard as a rock, and larger than average, even for a Nord. She licked her lips, and then glanced up at his face. He was watching her, that dangerous smile back.

The bandit leader was surprisingly clean for someone living out of a cave. His skin was dark from hours in the sun, not dirt, and when she leaned close to put her lips to his cock, all she smelled was clean man. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Kathryn slid her lips along his length until she'd taken as much as she could. A few finger's-width remained. She drew her head back, and bobbed it forward once more.

His breathing sped up.

She heard a low noise in his throat, one she guessed preceded his orgasm, so she slowed, her head moving almost imperceptibly, until he thrust his hips forward. Then she pulled her head back entirely.

"Tease," he growled, but he sounded almost amused.

He stood, shoved his pants and boots off, and finished stripping himself. She couldn't resist watching the play of skin and muscle. She would be hard-pressed to find any unnecessary fat on him. He was an archetype of an ideal Nord.

He took a step toward her, scooped her up and threw her over his shoulder. She grunted as his shoulder knocked the wind out of her, and felt the jostle of each step. Thankfully, he didn't have to take her far.

To the rear of the cave, nearer the fire, there was a raised wooden platform, and an honest-to-goodness bed, heaped with furs and blankets. He dropped her on it easily, and then began stripping her as efficiently as he had himself.

When she was bare, he drank in the sight of her.

"Fucking beautiful, princess." He growled. "Now turn around."

Kathryn had only a moment's thought about rebelling. And then she turned and bent so her hands rested on the bed and her ass jutted toward him obscenely. He took advantage of it, running his fingers along her slit, finding that she was absolutely_soaked_ in anticipation.

Without further preamble, he lined himself up and entered her in one fluid motion. She gasped, balancing herself on her toes and pressing back against him. When he withdrew, she felt the loss. And then he was back, filling her once more. He set a fast pace, pulling back and slamming home quickly and ferociously.

He bent over her, his pace slowing only slightly as he braced himself on one arm. His other slid down along her belly finding her clit and rubbing it, circling and catching it with each stroke. She moaned in earnest now. And then his teeth were catching her shoulder in a primal grip and he was slamming harder into her and she was clenching and orgasming around him.

The bandit kept going, picking up his pace one more. He rose, his fingers digging into her hips and pulling her back against him so her breasts bounced and she struggled to maintain her balance. It was amazing and nearly painful as he slammed their bodies together with an audible slapping noise. He came inside her with another growl, continuing to pump into her for another moment or two before he slowed, his breathing heavy.

Kathryn felt her chest heaving as she caught her breath.

They clothed themselves in silence, and when they were both fully equipped once more, he faced her.

Their eyes met.

"I think," he said slowly, "that despite giving a thorough beating to the mercenary wench who came to roust me, I have decided to leave this area behind."

"I think I've successfully gotten rid of the bandit problem I was asked to take care of," Her eyes strayed to the remains of her sword. "At great personal expense."

His teeth flashed in the dimness once more.

"Deal."

She couldn't resist giving him one farewell kiss, their lips meeting with bruising desperation and hunger. His hand slapped her ass as she walked away.

"Take care of yourself, princess. Nobody's allowed to kill you but me."

"Sorry handsome," she said, raising her hand in a farewell without turning back. "But I believe I'm the one who's got a contract with you. If you let anyone else kill you, so help me, I will raise you and kill you again."


	2. Chapter 2

**Part II: Mercenary**

Some six months down the road, Kathryn still occasionally thought of the bandit. She wondered if he thought of her. If he'd found a more "respectable" line of work, or if he'd just moved to a different area. She'd gone by the cave his bandits had populated and it had been deserted, all items of value had been removed. She'd sighed, and left.

Even as she'd left the first time, Kathryn had been all-too aware that what the bandit had probably been was a good lay she'd never meet again. And really, she had been okay with that at the time.

But she found herself comparing all her lovers since to him. The bandit whose name she didn't even know.

After each vaguely disappointing encounter, she'd waited longer before trying again with someone else. Still she was never satisfied. They were too big, too small, too hairy, too smooth. Their hands were too rough, too soft. No matter what, there was something that reminded her that it was not_him_.

It had been about a month since she'd last found herself a lover, and she was tired of sleeping alone.

That night, she went to Candlehearth Hall, hoping for some mead, and perhaps some company. She got a tankard of mead, and found a table where she could survey the area. Stenvar, one of the local sellswords she _hadn't_seduced, raised his glass in salute. She nodded back, noting the wink he sent her.

Her habits were known, apparently.

She laughed a little, and let it go. It wasn't worth getting bothered over the truth, and nobody seemed to mind. If anything, it made her odds a bit better. She caught hopeful glances from a few young Nords by the bar, but none of them had the air of experience that she looked for.

A door clattered out of her sight, and she saw Stenvar glance at it. He raised his hand to greet whoever had entered, and Kathryn found her interest piqued.

"Roliand!" He rose from his chair and greeted the dark-haired Nord with a few thumps on his back. Roliand—the new arrival—gave himself a good shake and settled into a chair beside Stenvar. His back was to her, so she couldn't see his face, but she had this feeling that she knew him.

Kathryn was intrigued enough that she couldn't resist crossing the room to join Stenvar and his guest.

She slid easily into the third seat, her eyes on the server wandering the room. She waved for a new drink. The girl nodded, and headed off to retrieve more mead.

That was when Kathryn's attention fell back on her tablemates. Her eyes met those of the new arrival, and she froze, her mouth going dry.

It was _him_.

His smile was back, lazy and predatory as he let his eyes roam over her. There was a challenge there, one that she was certain she could rise to.

"Roliand, is it?" She asked, keeping her tone carefully casual even as she fought the urge to jump on him here in the middle of the room. Instead she forced herself to lean back in her chair as though she were calm.

"Aye," Roliand was as cool as she was, nothing more than the look in those brilliant blue eyes telling her that he was as aware of who she was. "And you are..?"

"Kathryn."

"She's a Companion," Stenvar said by way of introduction. "And Roliand here is my protégé."

The drinks she'd ordered arrived then, the round she'd bought for them all going a long way to distract Stenvar from examining the looks passing between his companions. If he did notice them, at least, he was neither bothered nor particularly interested in them.

As the mead and ale flowed, Kathryn felt herself relaxing. Stenvar talked, telling old "war stories" to his tablemates, the words filling what might have otherwise been an awkwardly intense silence. As the night moved along, the looks between herself and Roliand lingered longer, and the playful touches became something else.

Finally, Stenvar excused himself, murmuring something about enough ale. Kathryn wasn't entirely sure. Her mind hadn't been on the man even as he'd spoken, or she might have noticed the knowing smirk he gave them.

For the most part, the upper floor of Candlehearth hall had emptied as they'd been there. A quick glance around the room ensured Kathryn that the only people left were so far into their cups that there was no point in worrying about them eavesdropping.

"So, Roliand," She sat forward, elbows on the table, fingers templed before her lips. "How does one go from bandit leader to old mercenary's protégé?"

"How did you go from bumbling mercenary to a companion?" he retorted, one dark eyebrow twitching higher. "Things change."

She was tempted to pursue that, to poke at him until he told her more. What she really wanted to know was if their last encounter had changed him as it had her, and if he was as attracted to her as she was to him.

"Not too much, I hope?" She asked, standing carefully. "I've a room, if you're interested."

He stayed seated, and she resisted the urge to give into the wave of disappointment she felt. She'd _hoped_he was interested in her still, but clearly that had been too much to ask for. To preserve her pride, she kept walking. Behind her, his chair scraped across the floor. She smiled. Perhaps held more promise than she'd initially thought.

He was silent as they traversed the short distance from their table to her room, the only hint that he was even there was the sound of his feet on the floorboards just behind her, and even that was quieter than she would have expected from him. When they reached her door, and she fumbled with the latch, he slid his arm around her waist and pulled her back against him.

"I had hoped to see you again, princess." He whispered, his breath stirring the hair by her ears. His lips brushed against her earlobe, and she felt herself angling her head to give him access to her neck. He chuckled, and she felt his chest vibrate against her back, and then his teeth were grazing across the sensitive skin and she was sighing and softening in his arms.

Her fingers fumbled clumsily at the door, but she got it open, and drew him in behind her. The door clicked shut, and she flipped the lock.

She looked up at him, her smile growing with each passing moment. She'd rented the room hours earlier, so most of her armor and heavier gear was stowed here. She wore a simple dress, the bodice cut low enough to show the swells of her breasts, the lacings tight enough to show her trim waist. The skirts were full enough to fall nicely off the flare of her hips. She only owned one dress, and had made a point of getting it tailored to show her at her best.

Because if it didn't make her look and feel beautiful, then what was the point.

She'd seen Roliand's gaze on her cleavage at the table, had known that at the very least he was _physically_interested in her. She had not, however, been so certain that his interest would translate into... this.

He was armored, unsurprisingly, in another Nord favorite. The steel was certainly of higher quality than the leather he'd worn before, so she had to assume mercenary work had gone well for him financially. It fit him well, even. She closed the distance between their bodies, and pressed herself against him.

"So tell me, handsome," Her lips feathered kisses along his jaw as she unbuckled his armor efficiently. "Did you miss me?"

His hands caught her waist as he turned his head to claim her lips. His hands slid down her body until he was holding her ass, pulling her hard against him. His tongue pressed against her lips, which she parted to give him entrance. He took advantage of the gesture to capture her lower lip and nibble on it.

When he pulled back a moment later, she used the gap between them to finish removing the armor on his upper body.

Once again he was topless before her, and she was reminded of just how perfect a specimen he really was. There were a few scars that had to be recent, his skin the brighter pink of a new scar instead of the faded whiteness of old scarring. Her fingers gently traced the marks, an unintentional gesture of tenderness and concern.

Of course he noticed.

"I think you're the one who missed me, princess." His fingers worked at the bodice of her dress, unfastening the garment easily and sliding it off her shoulders. He tugged it down until it fell from her body, pooling on the floor by her feet. He let his gaze roam over her, taking her in.

She saw when he noticed her newest scar, a long, jagged mark that ran from one collarbone to the opposite hip. His dark brows knit, and his lips drew into a frown. His question was clear.

"Dragon," she explained. "I got too close, and it hit me with one of its talons."

The unexpected display of emotions was too much for her. She had _wanted_a quick hard fuck, like they'd had back in the cave, not some meaningful reunion. That sort of thing was for someone she loved, and Roliand was really just a good lay.

She caught his shoulders and spun him around before shoving him back onto the bed. He caught her and pulled her down with him, twisting so she landed below him in a tangle of limbs. He shifted until he was between her thighs, his weight pressing her into the mattress.

He supported himself on one arm as his lips and teeth once more teased her neck. His free hand caught her breast, playing with her nipple, rolling it between his fingers and pinching it. Her hands ran along his back, her nails scraping against the skin. It made him more aggressive, and she felt the feeling of him biting her harder at the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

She rubbed herself against him, her hips moving so she could feel his erection through his pants.

She wormed her hand between them, undoing his pants and sliding them down his hips, until his cock was free. It was as good as she remembered, hard and large. He pulled back enough to shove his pants further down his thighs, so they were mostly out of his way, and then he caught her legs over his arms and pressed her knees toward her ears.

She squirmed only a little, repositioning herself so it was possible. And then he was pressing into her again, going deep and filling her. It was amazing, better than she remembered. And certainly better than anything she'd had since.

He thrust into her hard, withdrawing and slamming forward again, hard and fast. But it was what she needed. She needed him this way, hot and demanding and hard. She wanted to ache from him, for him to fill her just like this. Her gasps became moans, which came with increasing frequency as he sped up his pace.

She could tell he was getting close from the way he moved, and she knew that if she didn't take care of herself, only one person would come tonight. So she reached between them and rubbed her own clit in time with his thrusts. He noticed, but didn't complain—as a lesser man might have—instead, shifting his position slightly so she could reach better.

The new angle was excellent, and she felt her orgasm building fast.

He came hard with a series of erratic thrusts, and she was close, so close but not quite there. He noticed, and kept thrusting at her for a few moments longer, until she was arching and clenching and her moans turned into a strangled cry.

He sagged against her. And then he withdrew, leaving her cold and empty. He stood, and moved as if to leave.

"Wait," she said, her hand on his arm. "Stay."

Roliand looked at her for what felt like an eternity before nodding. He stretched out in the bed, then reached over and pulled her over, tucking her against him.

"Just tonight," he murmured, his lips brushing against her temple.

"Mhmm." She agreed sleepily. Come morning he could go wherever he damn well pleased, but for tonight, he was here with her.


	3. Chapter 3

Kathryn woke slowly, enjoying the luxury of a soft bed. She stretched gently, pressing her hands against the headboard and twisting as she felt the stiffness of sleep slipping from her body. She groped blindly to either side of the mattress, and came up with nothing but blankets.

She was alone.

Her good mood dissipated as she sat up and scanned the room. He was gone. She sighed, and allowed herself to fall back into the bed. Of course he was gone. What had she expected? A cozy morning spent holed up in her room exploring each other's bodies? While that would have been nice, she hadn't truly expected it.

Still, she would have appreciated a goodbye.

A lump formed in the back of her throat, and she felt the unfamiliar burn of threatened tears. She growled, and sat up again. She_would not_ wallow. There was no point being sad over this. It was a waste of time. She should be angry. She should be _furious_ over Roliand's abandonment of her. He hadn't even said "goodbye," the bastard.

The first thing Kathryn did was pick up her dress, fold it properly, and put it away. She had paid good money for that dress, and like all of her other gear, she was responsible for taking care of it, even when she didn't feel like it. That task done, she dressed herself for travel, stowing her belongings in her bags easily. She wore light elven armor, a major step up from her old hide armor. She paced, the frustration at waking up alone still coursing through her.

She couldn't travel like this. She needed to work off some stress. Needed to hurt something.

She let out a frustrated growl and set off to find a practice dummy. A city this large, especially one with soldiers garrisoned in it, was guaranteed to have something designed for her to beat with a sword. The search didn't take long. She hacked at the dummy until her body was soaked in sweat and her arms felt like rubber. The dummy would need to be replaced. All that remained was the wooden posts, she'd hacked away the fabric and stuffing in her rage, and the carnage littered the ground, drifting only slightly in the breeze.

She was still frustrated. Normally exercise served to wear her out, so she didn't have the energy to be angry. But it hadn't worked. She looked around for anyone to pick a fight with, but those that had seen what she'd been up to averted their gazes and hurried on, keeping away from her wrath.

"You pathetic milk-drinking cowards!" she screamed at a group of armed men who slunk past her.

But Kathryn's reputation was becoming known. She had established herself as a force to be reckoned with, and nobody wanted to take on that force in the mood she was clearly in.

Still frustrated, she took a swing at the remains of the practice dummy. A move that she regretted instantly as she felt her fist impact solidly. Bones in her hands crunched, and she was momentarily blinded by searing pain. She swore, and clutched her hand to her chest.

"Damn, princess." Roliand's voice made her freeze with a hiss of pain. "What did the dummy do to _you_?"

She turned slowly, glaring at him. He reached out carefully, and his movement was so mellow that she didn't notice until his fingers brushed her am. She jerked back, the motion setting her entire arm on fire. Gods it hurt. She clamped down hard on the noise she wanted to make, and determinedly blinked through the mist that crept in on her peripheral vision.

She had dealt with pain worse than this. It hadn't been self inflicted, but it had been worse. She would not go into shock right now. She was not that pathetic. Just angry. At him.

"Leave me alone," she said, her voice tight. She couldn't hide the hurt, but she hoped he'd chalk it up to the damage she'd done to her hand, and not look deeper.

He reached for her one more time, and she flinched away from his touch.

"Fine." He said, throwing his hands in the air and turning away. "I hope the gods take mercy on whatever poor fool falls for you."

He made it about a half-dozen steps before she spoke up.

"Wait." He stopped at the sound of her voice. She took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "Come back."

He pivoted and came back to her, the look on his face something between interest and irritation. She took another deep breath, both for pain management, and to steel herself for admitting the most personal thing she'd told anyone in recent memory.

"Look, I understand not wanting commitment, or complications, but when I fall asleep _with_ someone, and wake up _alone_ it isn't a nice feeling." She couldn't quite look him in the eye, instead staring at his earlobe.

Whatever he had been expecting, it was clear her honesty wasn't it. Her wrist throbbed with each heartbeat, forcing her to track the silence between her confession and his response. It was eight throbs. A hesitation the length of eight heartbeats felt like an eternity, not just because of the pain.

"I'm sorry." He said. No excuses. No explanations. But maybe it was better that way. She wouldn't have to wonder if he had made something up. There was nothing to doubt. "Can we get you to a healer now?"

Kathryn nodded, and let Roliand help her.

The healer hadn't had anything good to say about the state of her hand. The more he had poked at it, the deeper his frown had become, until he'd sighed and shoved her gold back at her.

"You've been healed too much recently." His fingers ran over her hand deftly. "I can set the bones, and heal it some, but your hand won't be useable for at least a week."

Kathryn sighed. She'd been afraid of that. The dragon incident had been a little over a week ago, and it had nearly killed her. She'd been rushed to a very talented healer who'd managed to save her life, but even magic had its limits.

"Something for the pain?" She'd asked. The healer had pressed a packet of willow bark into her hand. She'd sighed. She hated the way it tasted. It was bitter and awful, even if it did mostly work.

Roliand had waited quietly and patiently for her near the door, leaning against the wall and keeping an eye on both her and the door. She'd watched as he made note of every potential point of ingress and egress, as well as the location of all the valuables when they'd entered, and then picked the most strategically defensible position in the room. He may have become a mercenary, but it was clear old habits die hard.

He fell into step beside her as she left the healer's.

"So," his gaze flickered from the wrapping on her hand to her face. "How do you plan on getting home with your hand like that?"

"I don't know. I'm not needed back in Whiterun for a while yet," She tried to let her arm hang naturally by her side, but it just made it throb and ache, so she held it against her stomach, trying to look like it didn't bother her. But it was a problem, and she felt stupid for being so rash. "But that could change, and I have to have something figured out."

"Hm. Well, perhaps we could grab some lunch and discuss my rates?" Roliand's voice was a little too casual as he spoke. Kathryn slanted a glance at him. He shrugged. "I'm a sword for hire, and it seems like you may well need one."

"Alright."

If she'd had any illusions as to her own competence, attempting to eat lunch dispelled them entirely. She couldn't bend the fingers in her right hand without pain, and if she couldn't even hold a spoon, she doubted she would be able to hold even a dagger in time for her to travel home alone. That left the option of a rented cart, but it wouldn't get her there in time. They tended to take rather long and meandering routes between the major cities of Skyrim.

When she dropped the spoon into the venison stew for the fourth time in as many minutes, she sighed and shoved the bowl away. It was like her left hand wasn't even attached to her brain anymore. She glared at the steaming stew.

Roliand watched, her frustration causing his lips to twitch into a smirk. She growled something incoherent, and threw her sweet roll at him. It went wide, landing harmlessly beneath a nearby table.

"Don't say a word."

"I wouldn't dream of it, princess."

She stormed away, his laughter echoing behind her.


	4. Chapter 4

Kathryn would never have admitted it, but she spent the rest of the afternoon avoiding Roliand. It was all done under the guise of preparing for the trip home to Whiterun, but she wasn't really fooling anyone. A traveler as experienced as she really didn't need to spend fifteen minutes contemplating the nuance of carrying venison vs rabbit, or the dozen other simple decisions that she took more time than necessary contemplating.

When she returned to Candlehearth Hall that evening, Roliand was waiting for her. He was dressed simply, his shirt fell open at the neck, revealing tanned muscle and a light dusting of hair. When he saw her looking, he smiled that predatory smile that made her stomach flop in anticipation, and then handed her a mug of ale.

"No more fights with practice dummies, I see," he leaned back in his chair, watching her with that smile still firmly in place.

She made a face at him, then took a healthy gulp of ale. She wouldn't dignify it with a response. After a moment of silence from her, when he realized she wasn't going to rise to the bait, he laughed.

Gods but his laugh was wonderful. It rumbled from deep in his chest, and it sounded so genuine, whether he was laughing _at_ her or _with_ her. And he laughed so easily. She didn't know anyone else like that. Other people were more guarded, harder to please, less apt to smile. But here was Roliand, apparently-reformed Bandit-turned-Mercenary, someone who clearly had seen battle more than once, and he still laughed with the innocence of youth.

"So what did you do this afternoon then, princess?" His eyes sparkled in the firelight, and though she wanted to stare at them, she tore her gaze away, instead examining the way his fingers teased the engravings on his tankard. His hands were big, strong, rough. Nords tended to have tough hands, and she appreciated that about them. They never shied away from hard work, and it showed. Roliand's fingers were long, his hands clean. She watched, entranced, as he traced small circles around some nuance in the pattern.

When she realized he was doing it deliberately to tease her, she tore her gaze away. Her cheeks flamed uncharacteristically. She was normally so unflappable, so secure, but here she was blushing like a girl.

"Why do you call me that?" She hadn't intended to ask the question, since it didn't really bother her, but it seemed a better topic than her day, and it felt like a safe distraction from the direction her thoughts had been headed so recently.

"Princess?" He paused, she nodded. "Imperials are usually so... snooty." He shrugged. "I thought you'd be like that too, at first."

"And then?"

"And then..." He leaned forward, caught her chin and drew her closer gently. She leaned in, letting him guide her until their faces were inches apart. His lips just brushed hers, the touch so light she couldn't be sure she'd felt it. "You proved me right."

Indignation spiked through her, and she pulled back sharply. He chuckled, seemingly enjoying the way she bristled at his teasing. He took a swig of ale, the smile never quite leaving his face as he did. He contemplated her for a moment before speaking again.

"You're beautiful when you're angry." She caught his eyes, and quirked a brow upward.

"How much have you had to drink?"

"Not that much, princess." His voice was warm, low and tempting and she wanted so badly to believe him. She liked the idea of being attractive, whether she was angry or not. It wasn't something that mattered to her much; most of the time she was a warrior first and a woman second. Her looks didn't matter except when she was seducing someone.

Thing was, Roliand was one of the best looking men she'd ever seen, and despite—or maybe because of—his teasing, she was incredibly attracted to him. Whenever she looked at him, she felt this _need_. But he was with her because of the coin she offered for the escort to Whiterun, and she had no illusions about the nature of their relationship.

Roliand's foot nudged hers, jerking her back to the present. He stood, and offered her his hand. She eyed it warily at first, but then let him pull her to her feet.

"Let's get some sleep," Roliand said, "Early morning tomorrow."

"Yes, of course." She nodded, and began heading back to her room, not realizing until he stopped behind her as she fiddled with the door once more that he intended to stay with her. She smiled, realizing that maybe he liked her a bit more than she'd given him credit for. Before she turned to him though, she schooled her features into the haughtiest expression she could muster. "So I'm expected to share my bed with the help now?"

He threw back his head and laughed. His hands rested upon her waist familiarly, and she found herself wishing that she hadn't donned her armor earlier so she could feel it.

"I _could_ go sleep somewhere else, if you'd prefer." He let his hands drop to his sides, and stepped back. "Though I thought we might both sleep better if we were worn out..."

His eyes ran along her body suggestively, and she felt goosebumps rising on her skin. The man had no right being as attractive as he was. A stronger woman than she might have been able to resist him, but she was not that woman, and was not sure she wanted to be.

She reached out with her good hand and caught the neck of his shirt, pulling him against her and into a bruising kiss. He fumbled with the door behind her, stumbling through it with her when it opened.

He kicked the door shut behind them, and then let his gaze rake over her once more. She tried to remove her armor, and fumbled. Her left hand had been capable once, she was sure of it. But when he was staring at her like that, and she was so impatient to get it off, she just... couldn't.

He caught her good hand and drew it away from her armor. She let it fall to her side as he began working at her armor, unfastening it with as much familiarity as she had his just the night before. A small, traitorous part of her rebelled at the idea of him removing someone else's armor as he did hers, but she squashed it.

She had no right to be jealous over encounters he'd had before. She had no claim over him, had _never_ had a claim over him. Besides, right now, he was here with her, and his attention was on _her_, not anyone else. The past was the past.

The worst part was the arm guards. He bumped her hand once, and she hissed in pain. He flinched, and proceeded even more slowly.

Soon enough she was standing there in just her underclothes.

He caught the hem of her undershirt, fiddled with it. His hands brushed against her bare belly as he did so, and her breath caught in her throat. Roliand smiled, and tugged it up. She raised her arms, let him slide it up and over her head. He was careful as he pulled it off her right arm, guiding it so the fabric wouldn't catch and tug at the wrapping the healer had left.

His hands were on her hips once more, catching the fabric of her pants and pulling them down. She stepped out of them and kicked them away.

Roliand's hands feathered up her sides, touching her gently, teasing her until she was pressing into him, desperate to feel more. He was still clothed, too clothed, really. She did what she could with her left hand, tugging his shirt up, exposing the hard muscle of his abdomen. But it was hard; undressing herself would have been difficult, undressing him was impossible.

He caught her hand, brought it to his mouth and kissed it, and then stepped back. She watched as he undressed himself. Another man might have teased her, drawn it out, but he moved quickly, the rapid rise and fall of his chest and the unmistakable lump in his pants showing her why.

As he stood naked before her, and she once again appraised his body, she became certain that she could never get tired of seeing him this way. She ran her good hand along his torso, tracing the pattern of scars. She came to one on his ribs, traced her fingers along it, he shivered.

Her good hand ran along his belly, and caught his erection. She stroked along it, reveling in the way his breathing shifted. She leaned into him, her breasts brushing his chest. His hands gripped her waist, his fingers digging into her. She tilted her head up, offering, and he seized her mouth in a desperate kiss.

"Kathryn," he groaned, and this time it was her turn to shiver. His hands clenched tighter, his fingers pressing bruisingly hard. She nibbled along his neck, alternating harder bites with soft kisses, until he was lifting her up and laying her back on the bed.

His hand slid along her body until he found that spot between her thighs. His fingers stroked her, catching the sensitive nub and teasing it until she, too, was gasping. Her hand on his erection stilled, the mechanics of stroking him too difficult for her brain at that moment. He plunged one finger into her, his thumb still working her clit, until she was sobbing out a litany of "please, please, please." He moved in, captured her nipple in his mouth, and filled her with another finger and that was enough. She climaxed, clenching down on his fingers, gasping and crying out.

He rolled onto his back, and tugged her until she straddled him. He smiled up at her, that predatory smile that she was beginning to love. She lowered herself onto him slowly, until he was fully inside her. She held the position, then lifted herself still slowly. He made a noise, and then tugged her down, so she was on her elbows, her cheek brushing his. He kissed her quickly, and then braced her hips with his hands and began to move.

She gasped, a series of small moans escaping her with each thrust. His movement grew erratic as he began to thrust in earnest, and then he was pressing her onto him and murmuring words she couldn't begin to comprehend as he climaxed inside her. His hands stayed on her hips, holding her in place for a moment longer. She stayed, her lips brushing along his jaw in a series of kisses until he relaxed.

She rolled onto the bed beside him. He tugged her close once more, and fell asleep.

Kathryn lay there in the dimness of the room for a few more minutes, contemplating Roliand. She was well aware that things were quickly becoming far more complicated than she had bargained for when she'd met him again just yesterday, but she wasn't sure she could muster the energy to care.

She snuggled closer, pulled the blankets over them both, and let herself drift to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

It's dawn when they leave Windhelm.

Kathryn is up and dressed before he is even awake. She kneels on the bed beside him and pokes him until he's awake enough to swat her hands away. She laughs, and he grumbles, catching her around the middle and tugging her back down into bed beside him. And damn but isn't she the best thing he's ever felt in his arms. She's soft and warm and she smells so good. He doesn't want to get up, doesn't want to leave this bed.

"Roliand," her voice is stern, but she's snuggling closer. Her ass rubs against his morning wood, and he groans. His lips find the bare skin at the nape of her neck, and he hears her breath catch. "Roliand, wake up."

This time she _is_ tugging herself out of his arms, and he reluctantly admits that it is perhaps for the best. Things are complicated enough already, without him acting like some besotted fool. He kicks the blankets away, and squints at her.

She's half-dressed, wearing the combination of leather and cotton that she layers under her armor. He sees her contemplating the elven cuirass, and he realizes that she's been waiting for him to help her into it.

The smell of bacon draws his attention to the bedside table, where she's placed a slice of cheese, and a rasher of bacon wrapped in a roll.

"For you." Kathryn's smile is nervous, and he finds it frustratingly endearing. He doesn't like the way his stomach flops when she looks at him like that. Instead of contemplating the reactions she evokes, he stuffs the roll in his mouth and begins digging through his bag. He doesn't have much, just some necessities and his armor.

He wears scaled armor these days, and every time he gets into another fight, he's grateful for that. It's significantly better than the hide he wore once. It's strange to think of how being on the "right" side of the law is less profitable, but he has better quality belongings anyway. His armor is actually crafted to fit his body. That's probably the best part, right there. He isn't just wearing the castoffs he's picked up from his latest victims.

Once he's fully dressed, he helps Kathryn into hers. He's as careful as he can be, yet he still hits her hand at least once, eliciting a hiss of pain that makes him wince. He wants to take her into his arms and kiss her until she doesn't remember her pain, but this is not the time.

He easily lifts his pack, settling it across his shoulders, and when she is done doing the same, they are ready to go.

As they leave the city, Roliand gets some perspective on just how well known Kathryn is. She's greeted by a fair number of guards, some of them more friendly than others. They're most of the way across the bridge out of Windhelm when he makes the connection between the friendlier guards and how easily she fell into bed with him.

His gut twists.

She's had sex with those men, and he can tell from the casual way she reacts to them that she has no feelings for them. He wonders if they're as in love with her as he is.

Because he _is_ in love with her. The jealousy that wrenches his heart, and the pain that he feels when he realizes it is probably not mutual confirms it for him as nothing else can. He's in love with her, and to her he's just a good lay. One that can protect her on the way to Whiterun.

His lips set into a line. He'll get her there alive, because that is what he's agreed to do, but as soon as she's in Whiterun, he's leaving her behind.

"A horse would halve the amount of time it takes to get to Whiterun," he points out as they near the stables.

"No, I don't think so." She pales, and her eyes dart over the creatures in the stables. He's too angry to laugh as he realizes she's afraid of horses. Of all the ridiculous things... but he doesn't press the matter. Just because he's done something stupid and fallen for the girl doesn't mean that he's got any right to be mean to her.

As tempting as that might be.

He lets the conversation drop, and Kathryn seems to sense something, because she's eyeing him quizzically.

He smirks at her, and then they're on their way. They follow the river south for a few hours, walking along the road in relative silence. It's not awkward, precisely, but he wouldn't say it's an entirely comfortable silence. He's too busy thinking, berating himself for being so stupid, and she seems to be off in her own world.

That's when the Troll attacks them.

It goes straight for Kathryn, and she's throwing fire at it. He didn't even know she was a magic wielder. Roliand files that mentally in the category of "things we need to discuss" before he steps in and decapitates the distracted troll. Kathryn steps back, and wipes some stray blood off her cheek.

"You're a mage?" He's bewildered, and it's clear in his voice. He doesn't understand why she hasn't said anything about it, why she's unable to make this trip alone. And yet, he's still grateful that she's asked him to escort her, because for all his hurt and confusion, he's glad to spend time with her.

"Uh," she hesitates, and looks away, as if she can't quite face him. "Yeah, I know some basic spells."

"Oh." He starts walking, and this time she's the one trailing behind him. He wonders if he should explain that he's not angry, or if he should let her think about it before he says anything.

The silence has become painfully awkward when they see the abandoned shack with the bear inside. Roliand looks back at Kathryn, and sees her readying a crossbow. _A crossbow._ The woman is as deadly as she is stupid, clearly, because a single crossbow bolt is certainly not going to fell a bear.

"Kat," he whispers the warning, and she glances his way sharply. When her eyes are on him, he shakes his head and places his finger to his lips. Discretion is the better part of valor, and while he's sure he can handle the bear, he's not big on starting fights he doesn't have to.

Which is funny, if you consider his previous line of work.

They're safely out of range of the bear in the shack when they encounter another bear. Roliand rolls his eyes, and draws his sword, taking a few long steps. Before the bear is even aware of his presence, his sword is digging into the soft spot at the back of its neck, and stabbing through its head easily. The bear is dead almost immediately, and as painlessly as he can manage.

Kathryn stares at him, her green eyes wide with surprise. He's not sure whether he should be insulted, because he's fairly certain she's surprised he's such an efficient killer. A man in his line of work doesn't stay alive for long if he's not efficient though, and Roliand is better than most at killing. He's not sure if he can explain that without sounding like a monster.

"That was," she pauses, seems to be thinking. "Impressive."

Then she's digging in her bag with her left hand, and coming up with a small dagger. She pries at the bear's claws, and he watches as she loses her grip on the dagger, her left hand as clumsy today as it was yesterday. But this dagger is a lot more likely to hurt her than that spoon was, so he steps in.

"I need those for alchemy," she says, and once again he is surprised. Apparently there's a lot about her that he doesn't know, and could not have guessed.

"Alright," he removes them and gives them to her. She's a bit clumsy putting them into her bag, but he doesn't interfere. It's not his place.

They pass Mixwater Mill just before noon, and he's optimistic that they're going to make Whiterun by nightfall, so he doesn't have to face direct temptation. That is, until she sees what appears to be a damaged tower falling into the river, and insists on a detour.

"You're in no condition," he warns her, but she laughs, and presses on. He's tempted to stop her bodily. Imperials aren't known for their size, and Kathryn is true to her race. She stands a good 6" shorter than him, and her build is slight relative to most other human females. Her hand is on the door when he decides that really is the best course of action.

He swoops in grabs her, and tosses her over his shoulder. She's light enough, even in armor, that he manages to walk away with her without a problem. She struggles, flailing a bit. One hand beats against his back, she kicks her feet a bit. He hefts her a bit better, and moves his hand so it's resting upon her ass. The next time her fist hits his back, he slaps her butt. She gasps.

"Put me down, you oaf!" She's using her haughtiest voice, and he just can't take it seriously. He knows she'll get her revenge for this indignity somehow, but right now he just doesn't think it matters.

He crosses the river carefully, doing his best to ensure that her head stays above water, and then he's climbing the hill on the far side, using one hand to maintain balance while he moves. His other hand is up under the "skirt" of her armor, where the only thing between his palm and her flesh is the thin leather of her pants.

"There's a body over there in that house!" She says, squirming against him once more. He smacks her rear, feels her tense, and hears the gasp.

"Hold still or I might drop you."

"You wouldn't." She's so certain of this that he feints it. She shrieks, and then she's clinging to him, and he's laughing. "You bastard!"

"Aye, princess. A right bastard I am."

About a quarter mile down the road, he gingerly sets her on her feet. She glares at him, and makes as if to slap him, but he catches her hand, turning it over and kissing her palm.

"You are in _no_ condition to go exploring ruins right now." Kathryn is looking at him with this blend of indignation and fascination that he finds disconcerting. "If you'd like to come back out here once you're healed, you're welcome to explore ruins to your heart's content, but my job is to get you to Whiterun alive, and my professional opinion is that it is in your best interest to stay on the road."

She stomps her foot, pivots on her heel, and storms away from him. If any other woman had done it, he'd have called her a spoiled child and left her there, but somehow, from Kathryn, he thinks it's just adorable.

His heart aches for the farewell that he knows is coming in a few short hours. They're not far from Whiterun. Not far at all. They'll be there by sunset, and then he'll be saying goodbye for the last time.

He's made this mistake before, spending all his time, money, and energy trying to woo a woman who just didn't feel the same way about him, who would never feel the same way. The difference between the foolish child who fell into that trap and the man he is now is a dozen years and a lifetime of experience.

He knows the landmarks as they approach and pass them. Recognizes each one. Some of them he knows because he's been there, others from stories. He slows before they reach Valtheim towers, just inside Whiterun Hold. There are archers up on the catwalk, and doubtless other bandits inside. He wonders if Jameson still runs the crew there, and then he wonders if that matters. There's bad blood between them, and with Kathryn hurt, he has no room to bargain.

"Stay put," he says, drawing his sword once more. She makes a move to follow him, and he steps back. "Stay here, dammit. I'm going to go take care of this."

Her lower lip juts, and he wonders if this is about to turn into a battle of wills. But then she sits, and he breathes a sigh of relief.

"I'll be back in a few minutes."

She nods, and then he's gone.


	6. Chapter 6

The minutes crawled by. One minute, two, five, ten.

Fifteen minutes later, the waiting had gotten to her. She was fidgeting. Pacing. Muttering to herself about stupidity and arrogance. If he'd gone and gotten himself killed, she'd _never_ forgive him. The impatience gave way to fear. She was genuinely concerned about his safety. He'd gone into what was likely a well-defended bandit's nest, and while he was more than competent, all it took, sometimes, was a bit of bad luck.

She weighed her odds.

She knew some rudimentary spells, and could maybe handle a crossbow left-handed, provided she only had to shoot once. She couldn't throw her daggers, and probably wasn't going to be able to stab anyone with them either. But they didn't have to know that. She could maybe bluff her way through, if she could talk to any of them.

That was a big "if" considering what she knew of bandits. The only reason she'd gotten to say so much as a word to Roliand when they'd first met was that he'd been intrigued by her before her sword had broken. It was a one-off, not something to count on. Most bandits were on Skooma, or likely to go into blood-rage. She _hated_ fighting bandits. They were unpredictable, and dangerous.

But she was going to try to bluff her way through. With every passing minute she became more certain that Roliand was in trouble. He couldn't be dead, that wasn't allowed and when she tried to think it her brain just went sideways. No, Roliand was alive, but maybe incapacitated, or cornered or... okay, so that last one wasn't actually much better. But he needed her help, and there was only one way she could give it to him.

Gingerly she unwrapped her hand, stuffing the bandages into her bag. Trying to move her fingers was still agonizing, but it was moderately less awful than before. Kathryn took a deep breath, readied her crossbow, and strode up to Valtheim Towers as if she had every right to be there. As if she were not afraid she was walking into certain death. As though she could kick ass.

Silence greeted her, and she momentarily wondered if she'd misread the situation. But there was no time to worry about it now. She passed a body laying near a cooking pot. That was a good sign, right? It meant he'd made it this far. Into the first tower she ventured, up the interior stairs. She glanced around the corner, to the pathway. A bandit stood up there, pacing, apparently unaware of her presence.

She waited until he was turned away to dash up the ramp and into the building behind him. She heard footsteps above. Roliand had been grabbed? Killed? Something had happened to him before he'd gotten this far. Quietly she crept up the stairs. A quarrel to the throat and the archer was down before he could react. She took what cover she could and loaded the crossbow again.

At least one more to kill. She climbed up to the archer's perch, took careful aim, and hit the bandit on the walkway in the thigh, knocking him off balance enough that he tumbled into the White River below. Once more she took cover, loading another quarrel into the crossbow.

An arrow landed in the wood near her head with a 'THUNK' and she jumped. She peeked her head up. There, across the river, at the apex of the further tower waited another bandit. He drew his bow, took careful aim. She ducked. Things had just gotten a lot more complicated.

She mentally ran through the spells she knew. Theoretically, at least, she knew how to reanimate a corpse, and the idea of having this bandit fight one of his own seemed better than trying to get across the walkway alive. A few murmured words, and a wave of her hand had the archer she had so recently felled rising. He cocked his head sightlessly, and then rose, taking aim at his partner across the river. She didn't stay to see if he was successful, she just took the opportunity to make a run for it.

She reached the other side of the walkway alive, which she took as some measure of success. She made it through the antechamber and up the stairs unchallenged. But as she crept up the ramp, she heard noises. A struggle? Did that mean Roliand was still alive?

She carefully poked her head around the corner. An alchemy table, a cabinet, a chest. Nothing of immediate interest. The only option was further up. Something creaked above. She cocked her head, listening, then moved up the stairs carefully, keeping herself low and hoping that she could catch whoever was still alive by surprise.

Roliand lay on the bed, unmoving. The bandit leader stood over him, her hands glowing with a paralyze spell. She moved so she was on top of Roliand, and then she was _kissing_ him. He didn't move. He _couldn't_ move. The woman was _forcing herself_ on Roliand.

Kathryn saw red.

Her crossbow clattered to the floor unused as she launched herself at the bandit, knocking the woman to the floor. She slammed her fist into the other woman's face, and the searing pain made her vision go white. Fury kept her conscious through the pain. A scream of rage escaped her as she grabbed the bandit's face and slammed her head back against the ground. She did it again. And again.

Then someone had her arms and was pulling her away. Away from the woman who lay prone on the floor, likely dead. She didn't know, but she wanted to be sure, and someone was stopping her. Kathryn struggled.

"Kathryn," Roliand said loudly, his voice cutting through the fury. "Kathryn calm down."

Everything caught up with her then. It was _Roliand_ pulling her away. Roliand cradling her against his chest, running his hands along her back though she couldn't feel it through the metal of her armor. His lips pressed against her hair as she clung to him.

As the anger faded, and the panic receded, the pain came to the forefront of her mind. Her hand. Oh what had she done. She looked down at it, saw that it was already swelling again, and starting to turn the dark and scary colors of a bad bruise. That was when the pain hit. It throbbed, and the pain was sharp and dull and stabbing and throbbing and oh how she wished she hadn't done that.

On the bedside table sat a minor healing potion. Roliand grabbed it, and made Kathryn drink it. She tried, but her stomach was rebelling against her, and not all of it stayed down.

He was bleeding. She saw the blood on him, and that was when she vomited up the little she had gotten down. She hurt. She hurt so bad it made her whole body ache.

"Roliand," she gasped, tugging at his armor with her good hand, trying to get to the wound. "You're bleeding."

"No sweetheart, that's you. Just hold on for me." His hand stroked her cheek, she reached up to touch his cheek. Was he crying? Her right hand lay across her stomach, and through the pain she felt moisture. When she lifted it away, she saw blood. He was right. It was her blood.

Why was she bleeding?

She hadn't been stabbed, had she? When had she been stabbed? Was it the bandit leader? Maybe that bitch had stabbed her before she'd finished slamming her head into the ground. It was all so blurry now, she was having trouble concentrating.

He pressed another potion to her lips.

"Drink it," she tried. She may have even swallowed some. She wasn't sure. The edges of her vision went grey, and she could only hear Roliand as though he was speaking to her from a distance. She wanted to ask him to speak louder, but she was so tired. She just needed a little nap, and then she could ask him to say it again, because she was sure what he was saying was important.

Her eyes fell shut, and the world faded away.


	7. Chapter 7

When Kathryn woke, she was in a bed in an unfamiliar room. She could hear voices nearby, loud voices, raised in merriment or anger. She couldn't tell. Things still had a fuzzy, surreal edge to them, making it hard to discern exactly what was going on. The room was dark, lit only by a single candle on a table on the far end, but she knew from the feel of the bed, the sounds and the smells that she should know where she was. She just needed a moment to think about it.

She tried to sit up, and was surprised to find that she could. It was strange, but she had expected pain from such a simple movement. She raised her hand, looked at it, squinting through the dimness, frowned. It wasn't wrapped. She had a feeling it should be, and couldn't explain why it perturbed her that it was alright.

As the dreams started to slip away, and her mind began to focus on what had happened, she scrabbled at the covers. Her side was not unmarked, but it didn't hurt much. A clean, white linen bandage wrapped around her torso, but it was smaller than she expected from the blood she'd seen on Roliand.

Roliand! Where was he?

For that matter, where was _she?_

A door opened, allowing more light to spill into the room. The sounds grew louder; merriment, laughter from upstairs. It was then that she recognized it as the Jorrvaskr barracks. So that answered one question. The figure that entered was that of Roliand, which answered her other question.

"Hey," she croaked, her mouth dry.

"Hey," he lifted a mug of something, and handed it to her.

Kathryn smelled it first, which was both a blessing and a curse. It smelled herbal and bitter, which told her that it was something a healer or an alchemist had cooked up. She steeled herself for the sip, knowing that these things often smelled better than they tasted. And she was right. It was awful, a cacophony of herbal and other flavors assaulted her tongue. But she made herself swallow it, and ultimately it did serve to moisten her mouth and throat.

"How long?" She managed.

"About a day," She opened her mouth to ask another question, Roliand held his hand up. "No, I think I know what you're going to ask. Healers patched you up as best they could. You've some stitches in your side, and they had to re-set your hand. I didn't mention that it had already been broken, but I think they guessed. I'm not quite sure how I got us here. It's a bit of a panicked blur.

"You gave me a helluva scare out there, princess.

"The Jarl has heard you're in town, and wants you to come by Dragonsreach as soon as you're able. Said they sighted a dragon and he's interested in your assistance as soon as you're able."

"Oh," Kathryn managed, examining her hand and flexing it experimentally. It ached a little, but not as badly as it had. She twisted slowly, felt the pull of stitches in the soft tissue of her skin, but again no pain. She hadn't realized how much pain she'd been dealing with until it was gone. "This healer did a better job."

"They ah-" Roliand hesitated. "They had a bit more incentive this time. Threat of ah... death if they couldn't fix you."

Kathryn quirked a brow, and the big Nord shrugged casually and looked away. It was a bit _too_ casual, and left her wondering what, exactly, he was telling her. Or trying not to tell her, as the case seemed to be. She wanted to poke him and pry for information, but she'd only known him three days at this point, for all that he'd been in her thoughts for months.

"Oh?" She quirked a brow at him, but he was steadfastly refusing to look at her face. His head was turned just far enough that she wasn't in his direct line of sight. Something was going on here, she just couldn't decide what.

"I ah," he stumbled, and she was even more intrigued. Could this mean? "I took another job."

Her heart sank. Of course he had. He was a mercenary, and gold was important to him. She'd offered him enough septims to get him here with her, but after that, he had to keep going, and she couldn't afford to keep him on her payroll endlessly. After she'd nearly gotten them both killed, she wasn't sure she wanted to try. She wasn't sure if _he_ wanted to try either, considering how good a job she'd done of leading him into a trap.

Sometimes, it was best to know when to let go, and she had a feeling this was one of those times.

The longer they were together, the harder it would be to admit that it was a mistake, and the harder it would be for her to let him go. The thing about mercenaries is that they were hard to pin down. She knew. She'd spent so many months wandering that she knew dozens of landmarks, but she still didn't have a permanent home, or permanent friends.

Part of her had wished this time would be different. That he could become a fixture in her life, her first friend in this strange land. But it was not to be.

It seemed like she never did a very good job of making or keeping friends. There had been others that might have become friends, if she'd spent time and effort on the endeavor.

When she'd left Roliand all those months ago, she'd been out in the far west of Skyrim. She couldn't remember precisely where she'd been at the time, and she wasn't sure it had mattered. She'd been close enough to Riften that she'd gone there. And then she'd found a job that took her across the country to Solitude.

She was on her way there when she'd run into the Stormcloak "High King" Ulfric and his men near Darkwater Crossing. They'd said something to her, had tried to convince her that she wanted to join their cause. Trying to convince _her_, an Imperial from Cyrodiil that she wanted to join their rebellion. She'd listened politely, prepared to tell them off when the Imperial Legion had sprung their trap. It didn't matter that she was from Cyrodiil, didn't matter who her father was. Her presence in the midst of the rebels had been enough to seal her fate.

She'd been up on the headman's block, prepared for the end of her life when the dragon had interrupted her execution. There had been so much smoke. So much noise. She'd fallen, and the dragon had landed _on_ her, its talons ripping through her clothing like it was nothing. She remembered her shriek of pain, remembered someone pouring a healing potion down her throat and dragging her away.

That someone had turned out to be Hadvar of Riverwood, a friend of sorts. She suspected that he saved her out of guilt, knowing that she had no place in this civil war, understanding that she was a bystander caught in the crossfire. She'd seen how conflicted he was as his captain had told him that she was to be executed.

Hadvar had saved her. Had brought her back to Riverwood and patched her up. Then he had asked something of her, knowing that it was impossible, but that she had the best chances of succeeding, and could travel to Whiterun. He might have gone himself, but he was a soldier, and had his orders.

She'd gotten to Whiterun, and had gotten sidetracked by the Companions who were fighting a giant. She'd helped them fell the creature, and then she'd been caught up in everything and ended up in Jorrvaskr. She had never made it to Dragonsreach, had never asked the Jarl to send troops to Riverwood. Instead, she'd taken a job that had led her to Windhelm. A simple job, sure. Smacking some guy around because he'd angered the wrong client, but it wasn't helping the citizens of Riverwood.

That was a week ago. Now the Jarl was requesting her presence and she was wondering if she'd ruined any chance at friendship by failing them as she had.

Hadvar had saved her life, and this was how she repaid that. By gallivanting around Skyrim with a reluctant mercenary at her side. She'd joined the Companions, found the closest thing to a "home" she'd had since she left her family in Cyrodiil, and hadn't said a word to the Jarl about the dragon problem.

As she thought, she stared at Roliand, her gaze not quite focusing on him. He was so handsome, so strong, so good to her. She wanted him to stay with her, wanted him to be her anchor amidst the chaos, but she wanted him to want that, too. She couldn't force it, and in the end, she didn't want whatever happened between them to be about the septims. She wanted him to stay because he wanted to.

And if he'd taken another job, he must not have wanted to stay very badly.

Roliand stood, his movements awkward.

"Kat," he looked down at her. She wished she could see his face, but the light was behind him and all she could see from this angle was his silhouette. "Be careful."

She nodded mutely. This was where "careful" had gotten her. She wondered if he understood that. He hovered expectantly, and she realized he was waiting for some words of farewell.

"You-" emotion choked her voice. "You do the same. I still have that contract on you." Her laugh was bitter. "So no letting anyone else kill you. That's- that's my job."

And then Roliand was gone, and Kathryn was sagging back into the bed and pulling the covers back over her head. Her eyes burned, her stomach twisted, and she was pretty sure her heart was going to shatter. She just needed a few minutes to deal with the pain, and then she would deal with her responsibilities. Just a few minutes, and then she would move on.


	8. Chapter 8

The next few days were tumultuous at best. It was an overwhelming whirlwind of news and revelations about herself.

She was the Dovahkiin. The Dragonborn. With it came powers and responsibilities that she didn't feel prepared for. She wasn't sure _anyone_ could have prepared for this. She'd read _The Trials of St. Alessia_, had heard of the blessing of Akatosh.

It had never seemed like anything more than a story.

But here she was, a living, breathing Dovahkiin. From the moment that her body had absorbed the dragon's soul, she had been unable to deny her heritage. Her calling. She was _Ysmir_, Dragon of the North. _Dovahkiin_, hunter of dragons. Consumer of dragon's souls.

She had been summoned to High Hrothgar, and had been schooled by the Greybeards in the use of _Thu'um_.

Those that knew what she was were in awe of her, though she had done little to earn their respect. She was surrounded by people who saw her as something other than the simple human she was. They sought to put her on a pedestal, expecting her to become something great before their eyes, to do something wonderful and astounding, and all she wanted to do was hide.

She had never been so alone.

She missed Roliand, knew that if he was here with her he would make irreverent jokes, would tease her and taunt her and tell her that it was all going to her head. He would bring her back to reality, would treat her as a woman, and not as the savior of the world. She needed that more than she cared to admit.

She missed him. Not just the sex—though that had been amazing—but _him_ and his stupid unwanted tenderness. The way he's watch her when he thought she wasn't looking, the way he'd touched her when she'd been hurt.

Kathryn redoubled her efforts, striving to lose herself in the work. She took all of her frustration and threw it into her assignments, trying to stay just a half-step ahead, to avoid the certain death that hung over her head if she failed. Because it wasn't an option. If she failed at this, the world ended. Alduin would destroy everything she loved.

The days stretched into weeks, stretched into months. She rose in power, rose in rank until nearly everyone she met knew of her feats. She'd been to the Throat of the World, had single-handedly destroyed dragons. Had become Harbinger of the Companions and Arch-mage of the College of Winterhold—though that last was more honorary than due to her magical prowess—as well as a notorious Vampire Hunter, a Bard, and a Thane in six of the nine holds.

Except when she had to have someone with her, Kathryn preferred to travel alone. It was easier when she didn't have to maintain a facade, when she could let herself hurt openly.

Why had Roliand left?

She still didn't have the answer. Didn't know if he was alive or dead. She'd asked after him, but he'd all but disappeared. Even Stenvar didn't know where he'd gone.

Enough was enough.

As soon as she finished her next job, Kathryn set out to find Roliand.


	9. Chapter 9

**Part III: Partners**

Making a decent living is hard work. Roliand spends most days routing bandits or other undesirables from locations that "civilized" folk want for their own purposes. He's killed more bandits, more forsworn, more monsters than he's capable of counting. Most nights, he's tired and dirty.

When he's very lucky, he gets a warm meal or a soft bed. Sometimes he gets both. He can count the times that has happened on one hand. But he understands that with the country on the brink of civil war, times are hard for everyone, so he does his best to ensure that he pays what he can. He's not making money like he did when he was a bandit, but he's getting by, and he's doing the right thing.

He's trying hard to lose himself in the work, trying to forget about Kathryn. When he's busy, and his sword is in his hand and he's fighting for his life, it's easy.

But nights like this, when it's quiet and there is no danger on the horizon, he can't keep her out of his mind. He's been keeping track of her ascent to glory. He's heard stories of her, songs of her. Whenever anyone mentions the "Dragonborn" or the "_Dovahkiin_" his ears perk up, and he lingers a little longer than is really necessary. At first he hadn't been sure it was her, but as he heard more about her accomplishments, he became more and more certain.

It's _his_ Kathryn out there, fighting the bad guys and protecting the world. He's so proud of her his chest feels ready to burst. He wishes she could be with him, that he could be by her side.

He listens to stories of her doing the dirty work for soft Jarls, of her fighting bandits and forsworn. It's sad, but he's pleased to hear that she's doing the same things he's doing. Sure, her work has more glory, but his name could be out there too, if he wasn't so determined to keep a low profile. And since he's nobody as exciting as the Dragonborn, it mostly works.

Even as he makes a point of sitting in taverns and listening to gossip, he's always a little afraid of what he's going to hear. Roliand fears the day that he hears about her getting married, about her having children. He doesn't think he can bear the thought of her settling down with anyone else. It's going to take a very special sort of man to deal with a woman as powerful as she is becoming. She's never quite going to settle down the way another woman might, and she's going to need a husband who understands that.

One who lets her have her space. One who goes with her when she wants the company. A husband who has her back and doesn't mind if his wife is more famous than he is. Sometimes it takes focused effort to resist thinking about how he'd be that husband. He misses her. He wants to be by her side again. Wants to kiss her again, to feel her warm and soft in his arms.

Sometimes Roliand thinks back to the day he left her behind, and wonders if he made the right choice. Would she have become as great if he had stayed? Or would he have held her back, and kept her from reaching her full potential? Sometimes he wishes he had stayed, thinking that it would be alright for her to live in obscurity if they were_together_. But it's not true, and even in the deepest moments of self-pity he understands that she's got a greater destiny than he does.

She's going to save the world, and he's just an ex-bandit who makes his coin bashing heads together.

That doesn't mean he doesn't wish he could see her again. He wishes more than anything that he could give her one last kiss, and explain that the job he took that day was important. That it wasn't even really a paid job. But he can't do even that much, because if he sees her again he won't have the strength to leave.

There's this selfish part of him that wants to go rushing to her even now, to tell her that he loves her and it's been unbearable existing without her. And then he reminds himself that she's probably moved on. It doesn't matter that he hasn't heard a word about her finding a husband, a lover. There's nary a word about her romantic prospects, and he doesn't know if it's because she's discreet or if it's because there isn't anyone.

He selfishly hopes she's as alone as he is, and immediately he feels bad for that. He doesn't wish her unhappiness, he just wishes that her happiness was with him.

Roliand is lost in his thoughts as his dinner cooks over a small campfire. He's in one of those wells of self-pity that have become more frequent recently, and he's not really paying to his surroundings when he feels a dagger press into his back.

He freezes, his mind very abruptly and firmly grounded in the present. He's contemplating whether he can get to his sword before the blade at his back is stabbing into important organs when he hears a familiar voice.

"Sloppy." It's a familiar voice, and instead of that being a relief, he tenses further.

"By the nine, princess, you scared me!" He's gasping and turning to see her.

She's as beautiful as he remembers, perhaps a bit sharper around the edges, but not in a bad way. His chest tightens as he watches her step around him and settle on the ground a short distance away from him. She's watching him warily, not quite smiling, but he can see that she's not going to shout him to pieces, so that's something.

They're silent, contemplating each other for a long time. He's not sure whether he should apologize, or congratulate her on making something of herself, and she's not giving him any clues as to what she's thinking about either. He has nothing to go on, and it's painfully apparent that he's lost in this conversation.

He's gotten less good with people over time, like his self-inflicted solitude has ruined his social skills. He watches her, not quite sure what to say, not sure how to begin a conversation that is long-overdue. And she's watching him, and waiting for him to say something, anything. He can see it in the way her brows are slowly rising, in the way her lips are pursed in disapproval.

He opens his mouth to say something, rethinks it, realizing he'll sound like an idiot of the highest caliber, and then closes his mouth.

"So," she says finally, a small act of mercy. "What have you been up to? I haven't heard a thing."

"Uh," He gestures vaguely in the air. He's really not good at this. "Dealing with problems for people. Taking care of uh... issues."

"I hear rumors that you're an assassin." He lets out a surprised bark of laughter, and she frowns at him. That was clearly not the response she wanted or expected. "Are they true?"

"No," He's still laughing, and with the laughter has come a release of tension. Perhaps that's why he's laughing so hard at something that is honestly not very funny. He's so tense, he just doesn't know how to deal with it now that it's been relieved. "I'm not an assassin. I deal with uh... other things. Bandits, forsworn, draugr, pests. I'm still just a simple mercenary, a simple man."

Kathryn nods, and he can see that she's piecing things together in her head.

"What about you, _Dovahkiin_, how's life in the spotlight treating you?" She flinches, eyes him warily. Clearly she wasn't expecting him to have kept track of her._Surprise!_ he thinks. He's been following her every movement, missing her desperately and trying to convince himself he didn't. Of course he knows what she's been doing.

"It's..." She hesitates, chews on her lower lip, and then continues quickly, the words spilling out rapidly. "Roliand, I miss you. I don't know why you left, or what's going on, but I loved our time together, and I want... I want you by my side."

He blinks rapidly, trying to process what she's just confessed. It's not what he expected, he isn't sure what he expected, actually, but whatever it was, it isn't this statement.

"Uh," He fumbles. Kathryn rises, and begins to move away, her skin flushed red in embarrassment.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come."

"No, wait." He rises, takes the two steps it requires to catch her, and then he's got her hand, and he's gently tugging her back. "Kat, I, it's just..." He fumbles again, but this time she's still here. She's not running away. She won't run away. "Kat, I've missed you. I've thought about you so much that it's hard to believe this is real."

She smiles then, leans in close, presses one hand against his cheek.

"I'm real. Promise." And then she's kissing him. She's soft and sweet and even better at this than he remembers. All he wants to do is lose himself in her, something that's not going to be an issue if she keeps kissing him like this.

"Kathryn," he breathes, and he can't keep the smile off his face. "I need to apologize for-"

She cuts him off with a finger gently placed upon his lips, stopping him from continuing.

"We can talk later. Right now, I just want you." And then she's kissing him again and sighing into his lips, and he's tugging her clumsily down onto the bedroll and undressing her tenderly, taking his time to explore her as he's never been able to before.

She's making these soft breathy noises that he loves hearing. His hands are running along her body, and he's kissing her face, and then he's nuzzling against her breasts, teasing her nipples with teeth and lips and tongue, catching the sensitive peaks and nibbling on them, running his tongue along them, and his fingers are sliding between her thighs and parting her folds and rubbing her clit and she's gasping and arching against him. She's just so fucking beautiful when she's like this that he doesn't have words for it.

She's whispering to him, begging him to be inside her, asking him to fill her, telling him she'll do anything for it. But he isn't going to argue with her, so he fumbles with his own clothing, and frees his erection from his pants, and then he's hovering over her, and pressing into her and she's amazing. Hot and wet and she's clenching around him in just the right way.

He hasn't been with another woman since her. Nobody else has interested him, so he's a bit out of practice as he moves. If she notices, she doesn't tease him about it. Instead, she's rising and moving her hips so he's moving in and out of her at a nearly frantic pace, and her gasps have become moans. He's so close, and then he's bucking into her and coming and she's whispering his name and shaking and clenching and oragasming around him. He holds himself in her for a moment before slowly withdrawing.

"Kathryn," he whispers. "I love you."

"I know." She turns her head so she's looking at him. Her smile is gentle. "I love you, too."

He grins. He's allowed himself to think about this conversation before, but it's never been like this, with her naked in his arms, her smile soft and happy.

He snuggles close to her, and relishes the feeling of her in his arms as he falls asleep.


	10. Chapter 10

Morning came too soon. It always did.

Unlike other mornings in recent memory, though, she was warm and comfortable. Roliand was sprawled on his back beside her, half-off the blanket they'd slept on. One arm was flung out, the other curled around her waist, holding her against him. She'd draped herself half across him, so her cheek pressed into his chest and she could hear his heartbeat. She snuggled closer, reaching out and running her finger along his nose. He snorted and swatted at it, waking slightly.

"Good morning, sunshine," she whispered. He squinted at her for a moment, and for a heartbeat she thought he'd fallen back asleep. That was when his hand began sliding along her body, until he was grabbing her butt and sliding her on top of him. He watched her through squinty eyes as he touched her.

She smiled, and kissed him before disentangling herself from him.

"No, I think it's time for that talk we postponed from last night." She informed him. He sighed, but let her go.

"Alright," He agreed. It was clear that he had hoped she would forget about their conversation. He rose, tugged on some pants, then sat and began poking their fire, preparing it to cook breakfast on. "Where do you want to start?"

"Why did you leave me?" It was hard for her to keep the hurt out of her voice when she asked. She'd thought of so many terrible answers to this question in their months apart. The worst one, the one that made her feel queasy whenever she thought of it was that he had a wife, and she needed him.

"I had to." He frowned, looking away.

"No, you didn't."

"Kat," He sighed, captured her hand in his own, ran his fingers along the sensitive skin on her inner wrist, the gesture one for comfort, rather than something calculated. "I had to take care of something for my family. I've done a lot of things in my life that I'm not proud of, but I've always been there for them."

"Your family?" Her heart sunk. This was the part where he told her he was married.

"My sister," He paused, his gaze going distant, his brows knitting low on his forehead. "She married this... fool. He took their money and ran off to "invest" it or some nonsense like that. One of the neighbors paid for a courier so she could send me a letter..." She saw the anger flash in his eyes. She didn't think she'd ever seen him genuinely angry before. "She works on one of the farms in The Rift," He was deliberately vague, she expected. Didn't want the Dragonborn using her clout against some innocent farmer if things went south. It was endearing and insulting, but she loved him for thinking of his sister. "And with her husband gone with their money, she was starving."

"So you gave her money?"

"Yeah, I gave her every septim I had, and then I went and found that useless mumper and I gave him the beating he deserved for leaving his wife and baby to starve while he chased some fool's dream."

"Why didn't you tell me?" She was still a little hurt, wanting to know why he hadn't felt he could trust her with something so simple.

"Because, Kat, I didn't think you needed to know how terrible my family is." He looked at her then, so earnest. "I didn't want to drag you into a family as disastrous as mine."

She sat there for a moment before his words sank in. He'd thought about her joining his family. He'd thought about _marrying_her before. And he'd fled?

"I don't understand."

"I love you Kat, I've loved you, I think, since that first night." He kissed her hand then, his eyes holding hers. "I wanted to be with you, but you could do so much better than me, and I was trying to do the right thing, and step aside so you could be with someone worthy of you."

Tears welled up in her eyes as emotion overwhelmed her. She was furious at him for trying to make her decisions for her. Flattered that he thought she could do so much better. Indignant that he somehow thought he was unworthy. And happy that she'd come back and forced this conversation.

"Well," Kathryn reached over into her pack, and pulled out an amulet of Mara. "I think this means something to you Nords, doesn't it?"

"The... Mara?" His eyes went wide. "I was..." He stammered.

She kissed him gently.

"Try that again, perhaps?"

He cleared his throat.

"Is that an Amulet of Mara around your neck?" He overacted it, his voice dropping down an octave. She laughed, and he continued. "How is a strapping young lady like you unmarried at this point in her life?"

"Interested in me, are you?" She spoke in a falsetto, teasing him the way he was teasing her.

"Indeed, my fine maiden. I would troth myself to you through Sovngarde and beyond." He laughed then, his face cracking into a grin. All playing aside, he continued. "Truly though, Kathryn, I cannot explain how pleased I would be to become your husband."

She threw herself into his arms, and covered his face with kisses.

"I'm so glad to hear that. My life was so much less interesting without you by my side." She looked to the sky, then glanced around the clearing. "I'll bet we can make Riften by nightfall."

Roliand's grin widened as he hastily stuffed things into his bag, breakfast forgotten.

"I'd certainly like to try."

* * *

_A/N: I'd like to take this time to thank you all for the lovely reviews. I've got one chapter left, and then we're done with Kathryn and Roliand... for now, at least._


	11. Chapter 11

Their wedding was a simple affair. The two of them, a few witnesses, and the Priest of Mara.

Kathryn wore her dress, and a few flowers woven into a crown. Roliand wore some traditional Nord finery. Nothing too fancy. There was a small party at the Bee & Barb, and the pair of them put away more Mead than anyone had expected of them. And then they had retreated to Honeyside for their wedding night.

In the morning they would face the world. They would find a way to end the Civil War, they would stop the World-Eater. They would complete a hundred menial tasks around Skyrim, trying to do what they could to make the world a better place.

And then they might sit down and talk about a home. A family. A future together.

But for tonight, none of that mattered. For that one night, their wedding night, they were lost in each other.

Everything else could wait.


End file.
